Eyes of the Heart

EYES OF THE HEART

Red Deer, Alberta

Back in ancient times, when television stations broadcast pictures only in stark black and white, there was a popular TV program called What’s My Line? In this simple show, panelists would try to guess what an anonymous contestant did for a living, based on clues presented by the guest’s appearance or hints they might give by answering specific leading questions.

I probably would have been a perfect candidate for the show. From my outward appearance, someone might guess my occupation as a long-distance truck driver or a bulldozer operator, or possibly even a prison guard because of my stocky build, large hands, and stubby fingers.

I’ve been told my facial features, though, were not entirely unpleasant to look at. However, to be truthful, I’m constantly battling an abundance of nasal hair, bushy eyebrows, and a waxy complexion. Unfortunate, but true.

It’s a pretty sure bet the contestants on What’s My Line? probably would have lost any television episode featuring an appearance by me, no matter how many guesses they took.

Why do I think the contestants would lose the contest? Because it was highly unlikely from my looks that anyone could correctly identify my job. I wasn’t an ex-boxer or army drill sergeant or sanitation collection expert.

I’ve spent my entire working life in a flower shop as a florist.

I inherited the Daisy Chain Flower Shoppe from my father, Duncan Hunter. Dad had started the business in 1952 in downtown Red Deer, Alberta. I worked there part-time when I was still in school, and I guess I just never escaped.

Now, at thirty-five, I’m still single. Not that I want to be. So far, I just haven’t met a girl who could get past the unfortunate initial impression of my appearance. I’m not a wealthy man, which would probably help my love life, but due to a lack of business competition, I manage to keep the flower shop doors open. Most weeks, I even have enough money left over for a night on the town.

My favorite spot for an evening out was the Red Deer Café and Pub. I’m a creature of habit, so I always order the homemade lasagna, with extra cheese. Being Friday now, I closed the shop for the day and headed down Main Street, nodding hello to many folks in passing. As soon as I entered the café, the weekly bantering ritual started.

“Hi there, handsome, looking for a good time?” the beefy waitress behind the counter asked.

I laughed. “If I were looking for a good time, Molly, I sure wouldn’t come to this dump.”

We laughed together, and Molly proceeded to serve my usual plate of lasagna with extra cheese. I liked Molly. She was close to fifty and a little on the chubby side, but with a heart as warm as you would ever find.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same old thing, Morgan?”

I reflected for a moment. “I guess I never really thought too much about it. Maybe it’s okay to live a life with no surprises.”

I finished up my dinner and proceeded with the second part of my ritual, the weekly purchase of a Super Powerball Lottery ticket for ten dollars in cash.

“Morgan, you should stop blowing your money on those useless lotteries,” the waitress said. “You’ve been buying those damned things for as long as I can remember and still never seen a penny in return.”

“Wait until you see me driving down Main Street in my new Aston Martin convertible, then you won’t be laughing. You’ll be begging me for a ride.”

I bid Molly goodnight and headed back to my one-bedroom flat above the shop. As I entered the darkened premises, I had a thought. Maybe I should get myself a cat. I might not be so lonesome.